


Rock Bottom

by Dogkeeperno6



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: EMOTIONAL CONTENT: DEPRESSION, EMOTIONAL CONTENT: SELF-LOATHING, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 23:01:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16251563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dogkeeperno6/pseuds/Dogkeeperno6
Summary: -Help me, it's like the walls are caving in--Sometimes I feel like giving up--No medicine is strong enough--Someone help me--I'm crawling in my skin-A one-shot in which a young Jack Morrison is drafted into the Soldier Enhancement Program and forced to relocate to Washington, D.C. There he meets a lonely, severely depressed Gabriel Reyes who seems to be all alone in the world. The two talk and Jack helps Gabe realize that there are still things worth living for.





	Rock Bottom

Jack Morrison had found out that he had been drafted into the Soldier Enhancement Program on what had previously been a pretty good day; his best friend Ana Amari had excitedly texted him that her crush (Jack was pretty sure his name was Reinhardt?) had asked her out, he had a customer buy one of the more expensive items in his family's store, and his parents had been informed that they were getting an agricultural grant for their farm from the state of Indiana.

 Jack’s day had been _great_ up until he walked back into the small farmhouse and saw his parents turn to look at him. Their faces were tense in an expression that they only reserved for particularly serious news; the last time he had seen that look was the day he had found out his grandfather had died, and that was two years ago.

 “Mom? Dad? What's wrong?”

 Jack's father took off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose and sighed. “You've been drafted into a new military program.”

 “What program?” Jack poured a glass of water for himself as he took a seat in the big armchair in the living room. He found himself more confused than worried now, but his leg still bounced anxiously.

 “We received an email from Selective Service,” his mother began. “It states that D.A.R.P.A and Overwatch want to implement a new program which will help create an elite force of…” She looked down at her phone. “... ‘super soldiers.’”

 Jack groaned. So basically he was being drafted into the army. Well, there went any chance of going to college in the near future; he was already twenty five, and had finally gotten around to looking at schools now that the farm was thriving, but his education had just been pushed to the back burner. “Why are they drafting people _now_?”

 “Probably to ensure that they are ready for any future wars. Tensions with Omnics have only been on the rise recently,” his mother muttered with pursed lips.

 “Okay, that's reasonable. But why me?”

 “Probably for publicity. They need to reach some damn diversity quota to make them look better in the news and so they picked the most picture-perfect schmuck from Indiana they could find,” Jack’s father growled.

 A frown settled on Jack's face as the situation sunk in. He hoped that this was some kind of sick joke - some scam trying to elicit information from people. Jack Morrison sincerely prayed the Soldier Enhancement Program wasn't a thing.

 

***

 

But the program turned out to be as valid as the day. Only hours later, a fully dressed soldier knocked on the door of the Morrison house, asking for their son. Jack was given a stack of paperwork to fill out and bring with him on the plane ride the military had booked for him in two days; _two days._ That was all the time Jack Morrison was given to say goodbye to his family before he was shoved onto a jet headed for Washington, D.C.

He hated cities; perhaps it was due in part to his suburban upbringing, but he always found them too noisy, dirty, and just generally intimidating. The temporary hotel room he had been given in the heart of the city certainly wasn't helping that impression: it was a cheap establishment called the Shining Sun Hotel, its name very different than the mood it reflected. Several homeless people could always be found taking shelter underneath the atrium, their torn clothes and worn faces always pulling at Jack's heartstrings. His only defense was his regular donations to charity, as he never felt like he could pick one person to give money to over another.

 Averting his gaze, Jack shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his jacket as he left the hotel, the cold blowing at his extremities. He despised the place so much that he only went back to the room to sleep, and even then he sometimes wondered if he would be better off sleeping elsewhere. December 3rd was already the fourth day that Jack Morrison had been stuck in D.C., a little past the halfway point of his stay. In less than a week now, the program would officially begin. He had been told that he would get to see his family for Christmas, but he wasn’t so sure if D.A.R.P.A would actually live up to that promise.

 The one thing that Jack liked about cities was the exposure to language. As he walked down the streets, he recognized many languages, even if he couldn’t understand what was being said: Russian, Japanese, Mandarin, Arabic, etc. Spanish was the only language that Jack could understand at a very basic level, if someone was talking to him very slowly and deliberately. So when he heard the language blaring from the headphones of the man in front of him at the street crossing, Jack had no clue what the song was about. He tried not to stare, but he found himself inspecting the figure in front of him. The first thing he noticed was that the man was _muscular_ , wider and taller than most of the other pedestrians waiting in front of him; a strong bicep flexed when he reached back to run a through his dark, curly hair. He was impeccably dressed, a long dark gray jacket with a white collar and black boots making him look even more intimidating that he would have already.

 Jack was completely unaware when the light changed and the people in front of him crossed the street. Apparently the dark-skinned man in front of him was also oblivious, continuing to stare at the ground. But what horrified Jack was when the man took a step into the street. Cars had already begun to rush by. Jack had no clue what possessed the man to keep walking, somehow not realizing what the situation around him was. Several cars were rapidly approaching, and were on track to hit this idiot if something didn’t change. Acting in the spur of the moment, Jack thoughtlessly ran out into the intersection. A loud car horn sounded from his left as Jack slammed into the man in front of him. They were both thrown forward from the force of Jack’s tackle, the nearest car swerving and miraculously missing them. Shouting voices around him blurred as Jack, now in the safety of the sidewalk once again, stood and tried to help the other man up. But the jerk swatted his hand away as he stood up, his dark eyes actually _glaring_ at Jack.

 “What the fuck was that, _idiota_?!” The man’s voice was rich, deep, and unmistakably angry.

Astonished by the audacity of this stranger, Jack shoved a finger at his chest. “I just saved your ungrateful ass from being hit by a car,” he growled. “You don’t have to thank me, but you sure as hell shouldn’t get mad!”

The stranger didn’t say anything, only grunted and looked down at the ground again as he touched a hand to his forehead where a large cut had started to bleed. Having taken the brunt of the impact, he was definitely worse for wear than Jack was. There were several areas where loose gravel had not only scratched but embedded itself into his skin, and numerous cuts and lacerations of varying sizes littered his face.

 Jack frowned in worry when he realized the condition the man was in. “You’re hurt,” he observed. “Let me get you to the hospital: I think there’s only one about a block away from here.”

 “No.”

 “Excuse me?” Jack was a little bit less worried now and a little bit more annoyed again.

 “Are you deaf, cabrón? I said ‘no’.” The man picked his headphones up off the ground and placed them back on his head, going to plug the cord back into his phone before Jack caught his hand.

 “Look, if you won’t go with me on your own, then I’ll call an ambulance here.” Jack tried to make his voice sound firm and authoritative, but to the other man he just sounded like a holier-than-thou pain in the ass.

 “I’m _not_ going to the hospital,” the stranger replied as he glared at Jack’s hand. His tone left no room for negotiation.

 That was understandable enough, Jack supposed. “Fine then,” he conceded, “I’ll just take you back to my hotel room and get my first aid kit.”

 Surprisingly, that made the stoic figure laugh. “Wow, you don’t give up easily.” Jack suddenly found himself a bit less upset when their eyes met. “Let’s go then, lead the way.”

 

***

 

The walk back to Jack’s hotel room was silent. He heard the Spanish music again from behind him, but every once in a while he would glance back over his shoulder to visually check. There were only a few stares when the pair walked in together; D.C. seemed much more progressive than Indiana, so homosexuality was not the taboo that many people saw it as back home; even if they had the totally wrong impression of why this muscular, brooding, Hispanic man was following Jack Morrison back to his hotel room. The thought stirred some indecipherable feeling inside of him.

 Jack stepped aside as he unlocked the door. “Take a seat on the couch,” he instructed as the two of them walked into the small room. “I’ll only be a moment.” Wordlessly, the stranger did as he was told, and Jack felt the man’s strong gaze watching him as he retrieved his first aid kit from the shelf above the counter in the bathroom. There was a palpable sense of unease as Jack silently picked out the supplies he’d need. He turned to the injured stranger once he had poured some hydrogen peroxide on a gauze pad. “This is going to sting, okay?”

 A nod was the only response as Jack took a scraped hand in his own, a tensing of muscles the only response as Jack placed the cloth on the dirty palm. Once the bubbling had subsided and the cuts and scrapes looked clean, he repeated the process with the other hand before rubbing antibiotic ointment on to both. Jack gave the man a roll of bandages to hasten the recovery process; as the latter covered the wounds on his hands, the former moved on to cleaning the stranger’s face. Jack gently wiped the soaked pad across the dark skin, the man letting out a small hiss of pain as the hydrogen peroxide removed the dirt and debris. Up close, Jack noticed several small scars, but decided it would be unwise to press for any explanation. Instead, he tried to make small talk, as Jack never felt comfortable in silence.

 “I uh… don’t think I mentioned it earlier, but my name is Jack Morrison,” he introduced himself with a smile. “Can I know yours?’

 The stranger looked up from bandaging his hands, his face expressionless.  “Gabriel Reyes.”

 Jack thought that was a lovely name. “Gabriel,” he repeated. “It’s nice to meet you. I apologize for snapping at you earlier ー I was running on adrenaline and was worried.”

 No response that time, as Gabriel tied off the gauze and inspected his injured hands. Jack continued to work, discarding the dirty cloth and taking up a small pair of tweezers as he went to work on removing the gravel and even glass from Gabriel’s face. “Are you from Washington D.C.?”

 Gabriel shook his head. “No, I’m from Los Angeles. I was forced to move here about a week ago.”

 Jack hummed in understanding. “Ah,” he responded; that was similar to his own situation. “Do you have any family here?”

 That was obviously not a good question to ask. Gabriel’s expression darkened, and his tone shifted again. “You ask a lot of questions, Jack,” he sneered. “La curiosidad mato el gato.”

 “My curiosity has only benefited me,” Jack retorted. Gabriel looked taken aback for a moment, obviously surprised that Jack had actually understood him, but then a smile split his stern features. “So you can answer as you please,” he continued, “but I’m going to ask you a bit more about yourself.” He set down the tweezers and picked up a bottle of antibiotic ointment. He squeezed a bit onto his fingers before gently rubbing it onto Gabriel’s face. “Do you have any siblings?”

 Gabriel was starting to look restless from sitting still for so long. “No, I’m an only child; the only one my abuela had to take care of her,” he muttered.

 Jack filed that information away as he continued to work. “How old are you?”

 “ Twenty-eight.” Gabriel’s eyes narrowed suspiciously when Jack let out a snort. “What’s so funny?”

 “You’re older than me,” Jack smiled.

 Gabriel rolled his eyes dramatically before he stared at Jack, the dark irises shining in amusement. “Why, how old are you?

 “I’m only twenty-five,” Jack snickered. “You’re _old_.”

 “It’s only a three years difference,” Gabriel responded exasperatedly; the blonde sure had some _nerve_.

 Jack moved to bandage Gabriel’s head as he let out a chuckle. “Hey, don’t bite the hand that heals you.”

 “Comprendé.” Gabriel stood and stretched when Jack was finished, the man seemingly impatient for someone his age.

 Jack definitely didn’t steal glances at Gabriel’s form as he packed up the first-aid kit and returned it to the bathroom. He cleared his throat when he re-entered, gesturing to the small mini-fridge beside the desk. “Do you want a beer?”

 “Sure, thanks.”

 “Denada,” Jack said with a smile as he tossed a can at Gabriel. He popped open his own and took a sip, nose wrinkling at the alcohol’s smell. They were quiet for another few minutes before Gabriel initiated the conversation this time.

 “My abuéla passed away a few days ago,” he stated. He took a swig of beer before he continued. “She was the only family I had left ー my parents were killed when I was a kid in some heavy fighting down south.”

 “Oh Gabriel-“

 “You can just call me ‘Gabe’, Jack.”

 “Gabe,” Jack began, “I’m so sorry.” That explained the man’s aversion to hospitals. “What was it?”

 “Just old age,” he shrugged sadly, looking at his feet. “She was eighty-nine.”

 “That’s terrible, I lost my grandfather a few years ago; we were very close.”

Gabe looked at Jack in a way that scared him when their eyes met. “Then why are you still alive? How did you managed to live with it?”A ll of the dots suddenly connected in Jack’s mind. “Gabe… did you intentionally walk out into that street?” When Gabe didn’t respond, Jack had his answer. “Oh Gabriel…”

Gabe’s chest heaved as he took another drink. “I’d been drafted into this stupid D.A.R.P.A thing, and I couldn’t be at the hospital for my abuéla when she was dying because they made me come here, and… yeah…”

Jack put his drink down on the coffee table and moved to sit next to Gabriel. “The Soldier Enhancement Program? Yeah, I got roped into it too. I was so upset when I had to leave my parents.” He wasn't sure what else to do to comfort the man sitting next to him, so he just kept talking. “I had no clue what they could possibly want with a simple Indiana farm boy like me whose only experience shooting a gun had been to scare off coyotes.”

He must have said the right thing because Gabe chuckled at that, actually letting out a snort as his eyes scrunched up in amusement. “You really have no place being here.”

 “No, I don't,” Jack agreed, “But I'm glad I am here if only to have saved you.” Normally he would have flushed red given the opportunity to think about what he had just said, but he was interrupted.

“What’s there to stop me from trying again? I have nothing left to live for. You know how sometimes you feel like you've hit rock bottom? Well, I was at rock bottom and then I fell into a trench.” Gabe looked at him again, and Jack never had seen such a powerful man appear so utterly defeated before. He wanted so desperately to pull Gabriel away from this dark cliff that he was so dangerously close to, but he had never dealt with emotions this raw before. Sure, Jack had experienced his own low points, but it had always been more of a lack of energy than a desire to take his life. He had only just met this man today and yet somehow he was already so invested in his well being.

He thought for a moment. “Well, what are some of your favorite things to do?” Gabriel Reyes stared at him incredulously with those sharp dark eyes for a solid minute before Jack repeated himself. “I'm serious; hobbies, favorite sports, anything.”

Gabe chugged the rest of his beer and then stared at the empty can. “Uh, I'm a big movie buff, I guess.”

“Any particular genre?” Jack would never have picked the hulk of muscle before him to have a more sensitive side; he could have sworn Gabriel was going to say his favorite activity was weight-lifting or something.

Gabe was not going to admit to a man he just met that he liked soap operas. “I'm a fan of action or horror. I like dramas from time to time but not the cheesy crap.” Jack nodded silently, guilty of always being the one to make “the cheesy crap” his first choice when watching movies alone. “Watching movies alone sucks though, especially in theaters,” Gabe continued, seemingly reading his mind. “So I haven't seen any in a while.”

Jack picked up his own beer again and took a sip, trying to act nonchalant. “Maybe we can see one together.”

Gabe wisely didn't ask if this was supposed to be a date proposal or not; Jack would have no clue how to answer that question. “When?”

Jack hadn't thought that far, thinking he would be immediately rejected. “Uhhh… tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” Gabriel snorted again. “You really don't have a busy life either, do you?”

Jack scratched the nape of his neck anxiously. “Not since I was wrenched away from my family.” The attempt at dry humor just sounded depressing.

But a smile tugged at the corners of Gabe's lips regardless. “Right.” The grin shifted to a frown. “But could I stay here for the night? I… don't trust myself,” he intoned.

“Of course you can,” Jack insisted. He didn't quite understand what Gabriel meant, but he wasn't sure he wanted to. “You can take the bed.” The fewer harmful things he had access to, the better.

Gabe seemed to understand Jack's reasoning, bobbing his head in a quick nod rather than arguing. “Thanks.”

 

***

 

It was good that Jack was a light sleeper ー he immediately woke up when he heard the bedroom door open, the old hinges squeaking. He blinked as his eyes rapidly tried to adjust o\to the darkness of the room, his gaze landing on Gabe once it focused. “Gabriel? What's wrong?”

“I told you that you could call me ‘Gabe’, cabrón,” the shadow of a man snapped. Even before he had finished speaking he felt bad, noticing the hurt appearing on Jack's face. “Sorry, I just get pissy when I can't sleep.”

“Nightmares?” Jack sat up on the couch, yawning.

Gabe shifted his weight, embarrassed and suddenly feeling very childish. “Yeah.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Sighing, Gabriel nodded and sat down on the edge of the couch by Jack’s legs. “I dreamt that my parents had died because of me. They were narcotics officers, I don't remember if I mentioned that to you earlier. In my nightmare I was some conniving kid that intentionally set them up for failure on this one cartel investigation by setting up a trap and then alerting the gang.” He laughed darkly. “The damn thing doesn't even make sense, but somehow my dreaming self knew that I was responsible when I heard on the news that they had gotten ambushed and killed.”

Jack put his hand on Gabe's shoulder. “But you know you wouldn't do that, right? You're a good person, it's not your fault your parents were killed. I would bet  money on the fact that you’d never do anything like that.”

Gabriel looked at Jack's hand on his shoulder like it was something he had never seen before. It was certainly not a sensation he had felt for a while. “Why are you so confident about that? You've known me for a day.”

“Intuition,” Jack responded. He hated seeing self-loathing in his others; Jack Morrison was a staunch optimist. He believed that there was good in everyone, a trait that his mother loved and that his father was anxious about.

Gabe’s gaze dropped to the ground. “Right,” he grunted.

Jack racked his tired brain with ideas of what he could do to comfort the suffering person before him. He pulled out his phone, tapping away quickly to double check something. “We can order pizza,” he suggested. “Stay up and just watch a movie here and just sleep in when we can tomorrow.” He wasn't sure if Gabe was ever able to sleep, so he wanted to help make at least one night a little better.

That made the man before him raise a single dark eyebrow in surprise. “Pizza at 2am? You really are a weirdo, Jack Morrison.”

 

***

 

Jack was happy that Gabe had indulged his pizza craving, even if he wasn't allowed to put pineapple on the pie as he normally liked to. The food had only made it about halfway through the movie the two of them were watching, polished off greedily.

Gabriel's voice startled Jack when he spoke. “Why are you doing this for me, Morrison?”

A glance sideways showed that Gabe was still looking at the television, head propped up by his arm. Jack frowned at the other man’s profile from his seat on the small couch. “You deserve to have _something_ good happen to you.”

Now Gabe looked at him, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. “And what's that?”

“Well I would say that getting saved from being hit by a car and making a new friend is a good thing.”

Another eyebrow raise. “‘Friend’?”

Jack coughed as he felt the tips of his ears burn. “I didn't mean to assume anything. I just thought that-"

“No, you're right,” Gabe said as he held up a hand to silence the blonde. “It's nice to have a new friend.” He added the “new" in to his sentence in hopes that Jack would not worry any more about him. It seemed to work, as he received a bright smile that made his heart feel a little less heavy.

“Cool.” Jack was glad that at least he would have someone he considered a friend closeby when the S.E.P. started; it would make the intense training and exertion just a bit more tolerable.

Gabriel smiled back, the gesture feeling foreign on his face. He was surprised at his own effort to be more outgoing: he was usually very withdrawn and introverted, but perhaps nearly dying changes a man. “Got any plans of what you want to do tomorrow?” He scooched lower on the couch, squeezing into the corner as he folded his arms over his chest and closed his eyes.

Jack scratched the nape of his neck. “I didn't think about it much yet. Do you want to get breakfast at like… a diner somewhere? I could do with a big stack of pancakes.”

Gabe hummed, the noise deep and rumbling. “That sounds good.”

Jack smiled and closed his own eyes. “Neat.”

“Good night, Jackie.”

Jack sighed, but it was without any annoyance. “Good night, Gabriel.”


End file.
